


Inebriation

by CorpusInvictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drunk Spock, M/M, bones/liquor otp, chocolate gets vulcans drunk, the more you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusInvictus/pseuds/CorpusInvictus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt: Kirk/Spock, Bottom!Spock, Since Vulcans get intoxicated from chocolate I want to see Spock get drunk from chocolate milkshakes!!! He gets friendly and touchy. Kirk has his way with a drunken Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inebriation

Kirk is thinking a lot of things right now. The first thing to pop into his head is that he should kiss Bones. But really, he shouldn't, because that would get messy and Bones would probably jam a hypospray in him for going bonkers, and Spock might be tempted to strangle him, and he can't have his CMO dying of asphyxiation because it looks bad on the Captain's log and reflects poorly on his annual Starfleet review. So he shouldn't kiss Bones, but he'd like to.

Not out of any sense of romance, though. Bones doesn't seem the romantic sort anyway. More despairing than romantic, really. Probably bitched out his ex-wife the whole time he was fucking her, complaining of all the various sexually transmitted diseases they could pick up from each other or lecturing her about how sex adversely affects the functions of the body. He can hear it now: "Damn it, Jocelyn, we could be having a heart attack or a stroke or a brain aneurysm right now and we _wouldn't even know it_." So no, there will be no kissing Bones out of any sense of romance or unrequited love.

But he does love Bones just a little bit right now, and he'd kiss him if there weren't so many things that could go wrong with that. Because somewhere in the midst of the discussion of Vulcan biology - and holy shit, how much fun was that, watching Bones' face slowly go purple when he realized _why_ Kirk was asking and getting completely sidetracked with an argument about fucking the pointy eared bastard while Kirk just grinned and committed the whole thing to memory - Bones dropped the absolute best piece of information Kirk's ever heard about Vulcans. It's almost as good as the time Bones explained about Pon Farr and further explained that no, it didn't mean that Vulcans only had sex once every seven years, although that was definitely on the top ten list of "Things Bones has told me that have improved my life significantly," right up there with, "This isn't the fucking Dark Ages, Jim; we have a cure for herpes now."

But the thing Bones told him that went right in the number one spot is the thing about chocolate.

He had tried, on multiple occasions, to get Spock drunk before. Mostly it's a curiosity thing - he wonders if drunk Vulcans just start up some crazy mathematical formulaic shit and giggle over interdimensional physics until they pass out. But no matter what he pushed at Spock, be it beers at the Mess Hall or bourbon stolen from Bones' stash or even Chekov's bottles of synthesized vodka that Kirk turns a blind eye to, Spock seemed infuriatingly unaffected. Spock can drink him under the table simply because his body processes alcohol like it's water.

And then Bones tells him the thing about chocolate. And he could kiss Bones, but he won't. Mostly because he's being kissed by an increasingly affectionate Spock in the middle of the Mess Hall while Bones looks on in horror. And maybe he shouldn't have invited Bones along to the science experiment, but he figured the medical community needed proof of the affects of chocolate on Vulcans. Also, he enjoys that shade of purple on Bones.

"'Nother milkshake?" Kirk grins between kisses, tapping the empty paper cup on the table.

"Unnecessary," Spock replies, leaning in to nibble at his ear, a warm hand sliding down his thigh and squeezing.

"I may throw up on _both_ of you," Bones grumbles.

"C'mon, Bones, you can't tell me this isn't at least a little interesting."

"I sure as hell can."

"You don't think it's interesting that he still talks that way when he's drunk?"

"It ain't interesting when he talks that way sober."

(Spock, for the moment, has ceased talking in favor of tracing his tongue over the rounded edges of Kirk's ear and letting his hand travel dangerously closer to the fastenings on Kirk's pants.)

"I bet he can still recite Scotty's theory of transwarp beaming even though he's wasted."

"I bet I don't give a shit. Plus his mouth's a little busy right now, and did I mention I might throw up?"

"Projectile vomit would certainly dampen our enthusiasm for sexual activity," Spock almost purrs in Kirk's ear. Bones makes a show of gagging. "Perhaps we should relocate elsewhere?"

Kirk turns to look at Spock and his grin stretches impossibly wider at the sight. Spock's eyes have gone all fuzzy with inebriation and adoration. His eyebrows are relaxed - none of that severe Vulcan glare apparent - and he's smiling like a besotted idiot. It looks fantastic - it looks downright _fuckable_ \- and Kirk grabs the wandering hand and pulls him from his seat. "Sounds like a plan. G'night, Bones."

"I hate you."

*******

Spock continues groping and nuzzling at him in the turbolift, and it's all Kirk can do to keep him walking down the halls towards his quarters. As much as he'd love to jump in him the hallway, Spock will surely kill him in the morning if he finds out he's been reduced to exhibitionism, and he'd kind of like to live long enough to see if Vulcans have hangovers.

The doors haven't even shut fully before Spock is all over him again, one hand spearing through Kirk's short hair, the other digging into his ass and dragging him forward so they can rut against each other shamelessly. He barely has a second to breathe before Spock is kissing him, lapping at the corners of his mouth, sucking at his lower lip, mapping out his teeth. For the first time Kirk can remember, Spock isn't clamping down on the noises he wants to make, making an appreciative rumble when Kirk slides his hands under his shirt in an attempt to remove it.

And then - and _then_ \- he starts talking.

It's nothing like any dirty talk Kirk has heard before. There's no "Fuck me," no descriptions of his cock, no begging, no pleading. In retrospect, he'd probably find that creepy rather than sexy coming from Spock. But the things spilling out of his mouth are killing him in ways he never imagined such stiff, formal speech could.

"I am going to remove your uniform as expeditiously as possible," Spock informs him, hand sliding down his chest and along his hip until all ten fingers are fumbling with his pants. "I am going to use my mouth to ensure you are fully aroused before we engage in other activities." He gets the fastenings undone, pushing his fingers into the waistband and shucking the pants to the floor. "When I am satisfied with your interest, we will relocate to your bed where I will prepare myself for penetration."

"Oh, fuck yes," Kirk groans, discarding his own shirt and watching Spock trail hot, licking, sloppy kisses down his abdomen as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of him. He loves seeing Spock there, and it doesn't happen often. Something about Vulcan pride and self-control keeps Spock from indulging him in this most of the time, but _oh_ when he does...

His mind wandering to previous occasions when Spock has done this to him warps back to the present when he feels lips pressed to the base of his cock, kissing him, licking him, teasing him. He slides his hands into the glossy black hair, for the pleasure of it as well as for the support. They're in the middle of his room and he distantly wishes he had a wall or piece of furniture, or hell, even the floor to give him something to lean against. But he sure as shit isn't going to interrupt when Spock is so intently focused on more important things.

There's still a distant, fuzzy look to his eyes, and he seems to have relinquished any urge he might have had to savor the moment in favor of fitting lips around his cock and sucking him hard into his mouth. Kirk gasps at the suddenness, fingers clenching in Spock's hair, and groans loudly enough to make him grateful for the soundproof walls. There's no finesse to Spock's movements - he's a bit clumsy and off-rhythm - but it doesn't fucking matter, because it's _glorious_ just to watch him, to see fingers digging slowly spreading bruises into his hips, to see those gorgeous lips moving up and down on his cock as he moans and swears and tries not to lose it before Spock deems him worthy for the rest of his plans.

It takes a long time for him to be worthy, apparently, and Kirk spends the majority of that time alternating between whimpering and gritting his teeth, hips bucking forward helplessly at every eager lick along his length, at every suck to the head, at every satisfied murmur vibrating around him. He's on the brink of giving up and losing it when Spock pulls off of him, and he's tempted to beg for him to come back before he remembers the rest of Spock's plans.

Spock, still half-dressed, carelessly sheds the bottom portion of his uniform as he walks to Kirk's unmade bed (with nowhere near his usual elegance and listing a bit to the left). He pauses long enough to grab a bottle of lube on his dresser before flopping - _flopping!_ \- on what has become his side of the bed. Kirk is frozen to the spot as he watches Spock fumble with the bottle before squeezing a liberal amount on his fingers, spreading his legs wide and spreading the slick substance around his entrance, fingers working it into the skin.

It is, without a doubt, the hottest thing Kirk has ever seen. And he has seen a lot of things in his pre-Spock days: women and men of every color and species, doing any number of obscene things he simply can't remember now, because not one of them measures up to the sight of Spock concentrating at pushing his own fingers into himself, his back arching and hissing softly in pleasure as he works.

Kirk doesn't realize he's moving until his hands are clenched in his own messy sheets, crawling up the foot of the bed until he's crouched in front of Spock, batting his hands away in favor of burying his face between his legs. He licks around the edges, the sterile taste of lube making him cringe until he starts tasting the more familiar flavor of Spock's skin instead, pushing his tongue up into him without warning and loving the throaty groan that it earns him. He uses his hands to press Spock's thighs even further apart, baring him fully as Kirk tongue-fucks him.

"Jim," he hears distantly over the sounds of his own licking and moaning. "Jim, stop. Jim..." And it seems all that lovely Vulcan dirty-talk has been reduced to the repetition of his name. But Kirk can live with that, pressing a series of bites along the crease of Spock's thigh, watching the green slowly flush to the surface, bypassing the hard cock entirely in favor of kissing along his ribs and along his sternum, nuzzling into the side of Spock's neck and leaving a lovebite where it won't be covered by their uniforms (something Spock would never allow if he wasn't all fuzzy from the chocolate). He uses Spock's distracted arch and moan to line himself up and thrust home, relishing the slickness and tightness and _heat_ , oh my god, it's like fucking in the middle of a volcano.

Spock surprises him again by wrapping his legs around his waist and bucking up into him, something he doesn't do unless he's completely out of his mind with lust. The only other time Kirk can remember it is when they went through their first Pon Farr together, and oh shit, he does not need that visual right now when the one he's already got is so delicious.

Spock's vocals have apparently ceased functioning entirely, his mouth gaping open rather like a fish as he tries to speak and simply can't. His eyes alternately squeeze shut tightly enough to reveal developing crow's feet, or gaze up at him in utter adoration. His legs are wrapped so tightly around Kirk's waist that he can feel them squeezing into the bruises left there earlier, his fingers digging scratches into his back. He can't tell if the dampness running down his spine is sweat or blood, and he doesn't care. Spock can rip him apart if he wants to, just as long as he doesn't stop surging up against him with every rough thrust into the mattress.

Just as Kirk is ready to fall apart, he feels the familiar sensation of fingers along the side of his face, searching out the points he needs for a mind-meld. But it isn't a turn-on the way it normally is; normally he knows Spock has control over the situation and won't send them spiraling into some sort of psychic haze in the midst of things. But he's got that fuzzy look in his eyes, and he's not always meeting the pace of Kirk's thrusts the way he usually does, and Kirk wonders whether he should bat his hand away and kiss him to distraction instead. Before he can manage it he feels Spock's mind passing easily into his own.

And he shouldn't have been worried. Because in Spock's pleasantly drunk state, the only things coming through are _Jim_ , and _yes_ , and _love you_ , and _close_. There's some vague amusement at the various expressions of horror and disgust they put on Bones' face that night, some appreciation of Kirk's anatomy (to which Kirk reacts with a great deal of pride and vanity and mental muscle flexing), and a soul-deep gratitude for the bond they share.

It's all driving him to the edge, his thrusting getting harder, faster, more erratic as Spock's images pour through his mind. Spock comes first, which isn't surprising given his mental state, and as he gasps his way through it, there's a strange new phrase lilting through his mind: _t'hy'la..._ There's a surge of warmth and love and devotion associated with that word before Spock's hand drops from his face, gripping the pillow as he moans his completion into Kirk's neck.

A few more thrusts and Kirk is coming hard, pressing his body into the hot, sticky one under him, fingers digging into his waist and clenching in his hair, pressing a heartfelt groan into Spock's sweaty shoulder.

Spock's legs drop from around his waist as he slowly recovers himself, fingers relaxing from their death grip on his arms. He makes a small discontented noise when Kirk slips out of him, settling next to him with an arm draped around his waist.

Spock surprises him yet again by pressing closer, tangling their legs together, hands rubbing soothingly along his shoulders and back. He presses a kiss to his neck, just behind his ear, then nuzzles at Kirk's face until he turns enough for a proper kiss. It's long and sweet and sloppy and full of all the affection and love that Spock usually keeps under close wraps. Kirk can't help smiling against his lips, combing his fingers through the messy black hair and petting him.

"T... t'hy'la?" he attempts to recreate the phrase, looking at him questioningly.

"Mmm." It's a sound of utter contentment and agreement, his eyes fluttering closed and pressing up closer against him.

"What's it mean?" he tries again, before Spock falls asleep on him and he doesn't have the opportunity to ask anymore.

"You," Spock says simply before he is dozing off.

*******

The next day, after liberal doses of headache medicine and assurances that no, Spock didn't embarrass himself the previous night, Kirk miraculously gets them both to the bridge in time for their shifts.

There's a small package on top of Spock's console. The rest of the crew is at a loss to explain why a simple bar of chocolate causes the resident Vulcan to flush green to the tips of his ears.

Attached to the candy bar is a note: "I hate both of you, but that was fucking fascinating. Bones."


End file.
